Emmeline
by orliNkeira
Summary: Elizabeth and Will, and their baby daughter Emmeline. not really the typical WE fic, more on the sweet-show-that-they-love-each-other-whole-family-their-life-together thing...if u get what exactly i mean..sth different at least, i hope..R&R! :)


I wrote this because I am a big fan of Will/Elizabeth fics, and I thought that there were really too little of them. Though I know that this is not the typical W/E fic, because they are already married. But I just think it's really nice and warm to read stuff when they are as a family, and they do things to show that they love each other..this kind of thing. I also just felt like writing something naturally sweet and romantic, so I hope this fits the bill. You folks know the routine, so go on and get to it.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the PotC characters, as much as I would die for them, so there's really absolutely no point in suing me, unless of course anyone out there is interested in some bubble gum and a five-cent coin.  
  
Hope you like it.  
  
As I lie on my four-poster bed, awake as the rest of the household sleeps, I stare into the velvet night's sky, the strong arm of my husband around me.  
  
My husband, Will Turner, has his arm protectively around my waist, strong and firm, but always gentle and tender. He says it's just a habit, but I know it's the fear of me being taken away from him again. And I love him even more so for that.  
  
But now he's guarding one more with that one arm. He knows so, for his arm is always more careful.  
  
Our new baby is due in two months and he's taken to stroking my swollen middle as I fall asleep. Now it has become a habit that without I can never fall asleep. His warmth makes me feel safe and secure and lets me know our child is well.  
  
I move my hand to trace his, my now-round finger running across his scar, drawing light circles on his palm. I know his coarse skin so well; they have worked hard to give our family a home, one where there is always food on the table, and a sturdy roof above our heads.  
  
As I hear my infant of six months cry out into the night, I shift slowly around our bed and face her tiny cot. I coo out to Emmeline, trying to soothe her fears. Hearing her mother's voice, she rolls toward me, and her crying soon dies down. I reach out my arm to her with difficulty; my middle is of an enormous size and my movement has turned slow.  
  
With eager fingers she grabs on to mine, her small hand lost in my large soft one. She gurgles happily as she gnaws and sucks onto my finger, her tears drying fast on her round pink cheeks.  
  
Emmeline stares at me in wonder, her deep creamy chocolate eyes wide open and sparkling.  
  
I watch her lovingly, basking in an inner motherly glow, my wild, willful, adventurous side a thing of the past right now.  
  
Life has treated our new family well. Within three months of our marriage, we had come to know that I was with child. My father was delighted at the prospect of being a proud grandfather and Will; he wore his smile I so loved and did the sweetest things.  
  
As I look at our Emmeline, it isn't hard to spot her father in her.  
  
Her swirling chocolate eyes, like that of those when Will looked into mine joyously, on the day I revealed my heart to him.  
  
Those chocolate eyes that softened whenever I was in his presence, which never failed to give away his heart.  
  
The same eyes that darkened in anger and worry when I had confessed to taking his medallion.  
  
Most of all, those warm brown eyes that watch over our small family closely, making sure our needs are seen to.  
  
Emmeline's thick curly tufts of hair, exact like those of Will's.  
  
But Emmeline's color was a beautiful mix of honey and brown, a reminder of who her parents were.  
  
How I loved running my hands through Will's dark curls, how soft they felt against my skin, how funny he looked whenever they fell out of his tie, sticking resolutely to the sweat.  
  
Emmeline's hands, though nothing like her father's, were as strong and stubborn as his.  
  
I thought of how tenderly Will bandaged my hand, no matter how long ago it was, and his quick reply when I had winced away in pain.  
  
How he had slid on our wedding ring on my then-slender finger.  
  
And how he had cradled lovingly our newborn child, or how as usual, he ran his hand softly over my middle, making sure I fell asleep.  
  
Or how rough it was, due to his taxing work in the smithy. But now I didn't have to worry so, for his work is recognized duly.  
  
How firmly they had gripped his swords when he had been fighting against pirates to save me.  
  
And just as firm a grip when he fought for what was right, and freed Jack from his noose.  
  
As memories from the past fly back, I become aware that it is now silent. Glancing back at my daughter, she has already fallen asleep. In her tiny palm, she clutches on to my finger, now red and raw from her chewing.  
  
I make to get up from bed, and Will's arm slides off me. Walking slowly towards the cot, my hands supporting my back, I cover the small curled up body of my infant, clad in a minuscule version of my nightgown.  
  
The gold pendant of a sparrow glints on her chubby neck. Smiling as I slide back in bed, I finger mine fondly as with the pirate medallion, which Will had made for me, a replica of the cursed one.  
  
Jack had dropped the pendants off on Emmeline's christening. And we have worn it ever since.  
  
As I get settled under the thick covers once more, I feel Will place his arm around me again.  
  
My eyes begin to close as Will strokes my middle. I can feel his coarse skin through my smooth thin nightgown, but they don't affect me.  
  
Because I had chosen blacksmith hands, and I didn't think I could settle for anything less.  
  
Fulfill the routine then..no need for prompting! Well, I would just like to know whether you guys would like a update on this, but anywae, I have already posted a story which follows up on this one..so if you want to, pleas go check it out..*haha* thanks.It's called Estee.. 


End file.
